Alchemy Lab
Castle Draco has many facilities for those in the arcane and esoteric arts. Among these are an extensive alchemy lab filled with worktables, supplies, isolation areas, storage bins and lots and lots of glass tubing and beakers. The air is redolent with the fumes of various concoctions, and rubber-clad Skreeks seem to be constantly in motion.

Two priestesses share one of the worktables, albeit grudgingly. On one side, a green-furred, bandage-wrapped Eeee prepares various medicines (and probably a few diseases), while on the other a provocatively dressed white and blond Eeee grinds up various herbs and other materials into neatly sorted containers. For safety, they've been put in the far corner, where the other workers aren't likely to be distracted by them.

"Well, if it isn't two of my favorite ladies," Alptraum declares, arms spread, as he walks into the alchemy lab and towards the two Priestesses. "How have you two been? I haven't seen you for a few days."

The two Yodh take a moment to glare at Alptraum. "Yes, that's right," Phlagaea notes. "Just where have you been, Alptraum? Out carousing with Tulani and Gypsies?"

"Looking up family and dealing with a few matters with Melusine, actually," Alptraum explains, "Plus lessons with Rosalind. How have you two been? You're not mad at me, are you?"

Blending into another corner – because, let's face it, worn black robes just don't stand out in a dungeon – is Mortimer. His pink hands only help him seem like he belongs here; after all, ungloved Skreek hands look much the same at a distance. "Hrrk," he mutters, a distinctly avian mumble. Before him are a variety of containers, as well as several dusty old tomes undoubtedly 'borrowed' from the libraries.

"I was doing just fine, until this… until Mave decided she needed to use my workspace!" Phlagaea complains. The Yodhinala doesn't react, and just has her usual slightly-smug grin. "I am simply keeping busy, Alptraum," Mave insists, and flashes him a smile. The sound of breaking glass and a few squeaky shouts come from across the room almost immediately.

"Mave … your shifting request should be doable, by the way, as is what you requested of Kaira. I've arranged things. You just need to tell me when," Alptraum says to the Yodhinala. To Phlagaea, he says, "Since you're crowded right now, would it help to take a break? I was wondering if you could help me with something. I need your expertise on a small, ah, health matter."

Mortimer looks up at the racket, glancing back to follow the source of the subtle ogles and scanning eyes. Spotting Mave again, he quirks a brow, and almost goes back to work … until he spots Alptraum at the table. Standing, the Reaper gathers his scythe, which he never seems to put away, and trundles on over.

Phlagaea carefully covers the small cauldron she's been working with, and smiles to Alptraum. "Sure! Who do you want me to smite?" she asks.

"Oh, nothing to smite today," Alptraum says sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck, grinning. "I need you to examine me for, ah… allergies to something. And if possible, help me work up a treatment… " He hasn't noticed the Korv yet. Something about these two women tends to distract him a bit.

"Ahh, Alptraum. You seem to be in interesting company, yet again," Mortimer says from right behind the bat. Like some sort of literal interpretation of death, especially the 'showing up when you least expect it' cliche, Mortimer peers up at Alptraum with a slight grin on the edge of his beak. He even pokes the bat with the blunt tip of his scythe, to get his attention.

Smirking, Alptraum looks over his shoulder. "They're mine. Claws off," he says, then flicks his large ears. "I suppose you want to be introduced?"

The two Yodh lean over to get a better look at the Reaper. Both of them seem to have an odd interest in the albino Korv.

The Korv, perhaps unused to having women focus on him so, side-steps further behind Alptraum and clears his throat. "Yes," he agrees, "I reckon we should be introduced. My claws are off, I assure you, though I did not know you owned women."

"Is it undead?" Phlagaea asks Alptraum in Babelite.

"Well, they would probably claim they own me," Alptraum notes and turns around. He slips his arms around both of the women and draws them against his sides. "The emerald beauty is Yodhgorphat Phlagaea. A dear friend and companion, to be sure. Also an expert on disease and medicine, and my confidant on many things. The platinum beauty is Yodhinala Mave. She is my personal Yodhinala and adviser when it comes to intimate relations and courtly behavior. Also an expert in various forms of charm magic. Mave, Phlagaea, this is Mortimer. A Reaper who has been hunting the Shadow of Amena and pestering me… And though he may look and smell dead, he isn't."

Mave leans down and shines her brightest smile on the Korv, and asks in a seductive voice, "Can I have some of your blood, Mortimer?"

"Yodhinala Mave is also a little odd at times," Alptraum has to add to that.

"No fair!" Phlagaea says, and tries to push Mave out of the way. "Give me some of your feathers! And… just one eye! I'll give you something good in exchange!"

The Reaper looks between the two women, then clears his throat again and puffs up his chest feathers. "It may surprise you, but I am more used to conventionally attractive beauties asking for my blood than you may know." He then reaches his Reaper's Scythe over, and gently tries to push Mave away. "But I'm not much for donating it. But, it is nice to meet you none-the-less, Mave. As it is you," Mortimer then tries to poke-push the green bat away, as well, " … Phlagaea."

Alptraum … rubs his temples. "Ladies… " he starts to say.

Phlagaea dodges the scythe adroitly. She's used to having farm implements thrust at her, it seems.

The two Yodh then turn their attention on Alptraum, making big 'but I really need that' eyes at him.

Alptraum ahems loudly. "Phlagaea. Now, about that examination I need your help with," he says, trying to distract the bat from her 'hunt'. "Do you have anything made of iron? I need to test some reactions to it. Help me out and I'll see what I can do to negotiate for a couple feathers… "

"And you can have some of my blood, if you want it," Alptraum offers Mave.

The bird keeps his scythe between himself and the priestesses, just in case. "A covetous lot, your friends," he tells Alptraum. "First my sausage, then my blood, feathers, and eye. And what's this about iron? Abaddonian, or otherwise?"

"Just … cold iron," Alptraum notes a bit warily.

"Why would I have iron?" Phlagaea asks. "Ask the rich Yodh." She glares at Mave again, who just shrugs. Across the lab, something else is dropped.

"You're not poor," Alptraum reminds Phlagaea. "Not what with your commission. I don't even have a job!"

"Cold iron, is it? An unusual request. Out to slay something particular?" The bird takes a step back, then shoulders his scythe when he sees his body parts aren't about to be stolen.

"No, I just need to test something with it. Slaying is out of the question," Alptraum notes.

"What do you need it for?" Mave asks.

"Meteoric iron was often cold forged, for its otherworldly properties and impact upon certain magic creatures and spells. Of course, I've heard Abaddonian iron has much the same property, although meteoric iron has more style, I think," the Reaper remarks in an authoritative way.

"To, uh, test it against myself," Alptraum admits.

"You mean, you want me to stab you with an iron knife?" Phlagaea asks.

"No, no," Alptraum says and waves his hand, "Just contact. A pinprick. Nothing lethal. I just need to know if I react."

"Afraid you've caught a bit of the sickness, have you?" Now it's Mortimer's turn to take an interest. He steps closer, tilting his head and poking at Alptraum curiously.

Alptraum pokes back. "What are you talking about?" he asks.

"Oh… like with a witchfinder's pin then? I don't have one of those. They sting," Phlagaea admits.

The bird stops poking when poked. "The sickness," he repeats, looking up. "It's what the peasant folk sometimes call a wide range of magical maladies, curses, hexes, and the like. Sometimes used for people with a bit of the witch in them, like myself, and your friends there."

"I guess something like that, yes," Alptraum notes to Phlagaea. To Mortimer, he says, "Okay, something like that, then. I thought you were trying to insult me. I've been warned by … a friend that iron may react very badly with me now."

"It's not an insult, although the folk use it like one, 'specially the more backwater sort," Mortimer insists. He gives Alptraum the once over again, then continues. "React badly? Taken to the witch's work, perhaps? Fancy magecraft? Turning into a werewolf? Well, none of my business, I suppose – but I do have a witchfinder pin." He gestures across the room with his scythe, swinging the great polearm to point at a small coffin resting in a corner. One of the lab workers has to duck under the blade.

"Well, if you allow Phlagaea to test it on me and … give each of them one of your feathers, I'll even let you stay and watch," Alptraum comments with a bit of a grin. "I can always just check with the armory, afterall… "

"Pins are safer than swords," Mave points out.

"I'm trying to get you a feather," Alptraum hisses in Babelite to Mave.

"Turning into a ghoul, I see." The Reaper shoulders his scythe again, then clacks his beak in thought. "I also have nails."

"Ghouls are undead. I am hardly dead," Alptraum points out.

"Not all of them, sadly," Mortimer insists. "I am certain an especially fat, especially wealthy, especially greedy banker is a ghoul, whatever he may claim." The bird then turns, heading for his coffin-case. "Two feathers it is, but I warn against using them to manipulate me. That's a very serious offense," he says as he goes.

Alptraum flashes a grin to both Phlagaea and Mave. "Now, what would you do without me?" he says with a grin. "Wait, don't answer that… So, Phlagaea, want to do this? Mave, want to watch?"

"Reaper feathers make for wonderful boils," Phlagaea notes. "So of course I'll do it. Where do you want me to poke you?" Mave just grins and nods. "Do I get a turn with the pin as well?" she asks.

Alptraum gives Mave a sidelong glance. "I suppose," he says. "Basically, just a light prick in my right and left forearms for now."

After fishing through his coffin case, which appears to be an actual coffin with a handle and some securing straps attached to it, Mortimer returns with a pin attached to a wooden handle. "Mine's fresh, only had it a half a turn," he says, holding the implement up for Alptraum to take.

Alptraum takes it carefully by the wooden handle. With his free hand, he waves it over, but doesn't touch, the iron. "I didn't know freshness mattered with needles," he comments.

"It does if you don't boil them after each use," Phlagaea notes, and holds her hand out for the implement.

"And iron loses potency over time," the Reaper adds in explanation. "Usually many years, but with the influx of iron, it's much easier to change your implements."

Alptraum hands the needle over. To Mave, he asks, "Er, so, what do you want to poke, anyway?" To Mortimer, he adds, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Phlagaea pokes at Alptraum's chitin-covered hand first, which doesn't cause much of a reaction beyond feeling poked. But when she holds the needle to one point for a few seconds, it does begin to itch. "Feel anything?" she asks.

"I am not as malevolent as you suppose, Alptraum," insists Mortimer, who sounds a little indignant. "I get no special pleasure from the suffering of others. Usually." To Phlagaea, he suggests, "I can instruct you on especially potent areas to poke, if you like."

"That depends," Mave notes. "In private, I can think of lots of places."

"The poke felt like being poked," Alptraum comments after the jab. He doesn't jerk away, though. "But if you hold it there … it itches," he adds, that had twitching a bit as he resists the urge to scratch.

"That can be the witch sign," Mortimer remarks, leaning closer to watch, "or a simple allergy. Or, the pin has rusted or otherwise become infectious, but those are the dangers of this sort of thing."

To Mave, Alptraum notes, "Maybe you can experiment with that sometime with a Barinala."

Phlagaea says, "Turn your hand over so I can try the scales."

Over Alptraum's hand goes. This gives Mortimer a good look at the chitin free part of Alptraum's right hand. It's covered in fine black scales with a silver tint. It looks rather draconic, really.

"Hmmmm," goes Mortimer, who's pink eyes lock on to Alptraum's hand.

The itching is more pronounced here, and even a brief poke raises a red welt.

"Okay, now that itches," Alptraum grumbles a bit. His brow raises up when the poke actually causes swelling and the scales to spread apart to reveal aggravated flesh.

Pulling back the needle, Phlagaea says, "I've got some cream… somewhere… that should take care of that." The she moves to Alptraum's left hand… which doesn't react at all besides feeling like it's being poked with a pin. Even holding the metal to it doesn't do anything.

Mortimer nods slowly. "That, as you can plainly see, is a true reaction. Such reactions are common only to beings who are highly magical, or individuals tainted by monsters and undead." He watches the second poke site, and nods again. "The taint appears limited to the mutated area, suggesting magical origin, such as a curse, or infection." The bird's eyes flick to Alptraum's, and he raises a brow, before leaning back.

"But … that hand feels fine, at least," Alptraum says, looking relieved. He pulls down his shirt a bit, revealing the white scar, adding, "And … maybe try here." To Mortimer he notes, "Well, I have dealt with a lot of magical threats. My hand was damaged stopping the Shadow, afterall."

"Yes, that's what I supposed happened," Mortimer tells Alptraum. "The Shadow is said to be 'shadow incarnate,' a 'consuming dragon of darkness,' and other things besides. The draconic aspect I took to be bardic exaggeration, but I see now that there is some truth to the description."

Phlagaea looks thoughtful, and asks, "Could you open your shirt please, Alptraum?"

"That's a fair description, yes. Well, it tried to kill me with a Black Heart first. Didn't work, though. I'm special," Alptraum says with a grin. Nodding to Phlagaea, he undoes his shirt the rest of the way and opens it, revealing the white star burst in the center of his chest.

The green bat taps the pin against the white mark, and it might as well have been a branding iron from the way it burns!

"Gah!" goes Alptraum and he jerks backward, clutching his chest. "That burned," he complains, rubbing the spot and then trying to check it closer.

"Ahh, the black heart. The seat of magic corruption in some, but not all, monstrous beings. Lower undead rarely have one, but higher undead, those who have been possessed for lengthy periods, and other less common monsters may have them. My mentor once told me of a black heart; It's a great place to aim your scythe," says Mortimer. He suddenly hops backward when Alptraum jerks, clutching his scythe as if ready for a fight. He can be heard to mumble something that distinctly sounds like, "not good."

There isn't any blistering or welts – maybe the contact was too brief. Phlagaea holds the needle against her chest and looks shocked by the yell.

Alptraum rubs the spot on his chest again, looking a bit worried himself. Finally, he says, "Touch it a bit longer. I'll try to hold still." He grits his teeth.

"Umm, alright," Phlagaea says, and hesitantly touches the needle to the mark until a red welt forms.

Alptraum twitches and hisses between clenched teeth as the needle is held. Finally, he pulls back and gasps. "That really hurts," he admits. Carefully he touches the welt and tries to pull the fur back to see the area around it.

"Well, I do hate to be the bringer of bad news, but your friend here," the Korv pokes Alptraum again, " … appears to be possessed. He has all the signs, and I reckon its spread rather deeply for a black heart to have formed in his chest. But, you knew that," Mortimer looks up to Alptraum, frowning, " … didn't you?"

It's red and swollen, a bit like a nasty insect bite. Mave says, "It appears that flesh which has been transformed by your shadow reacts the strongest. The scales are temporary, so were not as badly hurt as your heart-scar."

"I don't have a black heart," Alptraum comments with a bit of finality Mortimer, "That has been checked by two people." To Phlagaea, he says, "Want to give the needle to Mave? She did want to poke something." That gets a bit of a frown, but he did agree.

"Well, that may be, but you are assuredly afflicted with something both potent and serious," Mortimer advises. He steps back, but lowers his scythe to his side. "As Countess Draco is no novice to the ways of possession and undeath, I can only assume she is aware of this, just as your priestess friends seem to be. And, the Champion too, I think?"

Phlagaea hands over the needle to Mave, who then tries to poke Phlagaea with it! "You're a witch, aren't you?" Poke poke. This quickly descends into a Babelite cat-fight of high-speed, high-frequency insults.

"Yes. It was done willingly," Alptraum says, "As in, I allowed it. It was necessary to save someone's future… " And he has to stop there and try to inject himself between Mave and Phlagaea, speaking in Babelite now too. "All right, enough. Stop! Please?" he asks.

Mortimer looks taken aback by the cat-fight, perhaps surprised at the casual reaction to his pronouncement. He looks between the arguing three, and simply shakes his head.

Mave just smiles and hands the needle back to Alptraum (handle first) as if nothing had happened. "I was only trying to loosen her up. She's been very uptight recently."

The Korv's head tilts to one side as he watches the show, looking as puzzled as he is interested. While he watches, his free hand disappears into its sleeve, returning with two feathers.

After accepting the needle, Alptraum glances to Phlagaea, then asks, "What is bothering you?" He then hands it back to Mortimer.

Mortimer exchanges the feathers for the implement, which he turns in his free hand idly.

Phlagaea holds her feather and almost cackles. "What?" she asks Alptraum, finally registering his question. "Sorry, I'm just… I don't have anyone to talk to except for Mave anymore, since you and Tulani are always off doing things."

"I only went with Tulani those couple of days to see family. Other than that it's been dealing with my condition," Alptraum tries explaining again. "Why don't we do something this afternoon and night? I didn't realize you were feeling neglected. I'm sorry about that. Is there anything I can do for you?"

The green bat glances at Mave, then back to Alptraum, and asks, "Whatever it is you were planning to do with Mave, I want to do that."

"Uh. I'm not quite sure that would work," Alptraum has to admit, grinning slightly, "I'm not sure I would look good as a Bargorphat… "

"What's wrong with green?" Phlagaea asks. "It's a very healthy color. And I have extra bandages too."

Being sensitive to family disasters, as well as knowing when to stand around and be silent, Mortimer busies himself with watching the various lab experiments going on.

That gets a blink from Alptraum. "Well, if that's what you want, I can arrange it," he admits, "Would you want to watch the shift? It'll probably … odd."

"Of course I want to watch," Phlagaea says, and suddenly tries to tickle Alptraum's nose with Mortimer's feather. "Maybe you'll be able to control the vermites… "

Alptraum nearly sneezes! "Then it's a date for tonight. One Bargorphat for you. I can't do anything about my eyes, though. Fur color is easy, eyes are not," he notes.

"I suppose for a real challenge you'll have to turn yourself into a Korv for your new friend," Phlagaea notes.

"I don't swing that way," Alptraum comments with a grin. That reminds him that Mortimer is actually present, at least. "Now, as for you … I guess you want to know about what I allowed to possess me?" he asks.

"Well, if you aren't going to turn into a Korv, I suppose I'll have to settle for that," Mortimer says after looking back. His intent stare and neutral, brow-raised expression doesn't suggest if he's kidding or not.

"I merged with the Shadow of Amena. Or rather, it gave itself to oblivion and gifted its abilities to me to use to protect someone. My nature as the Barsunala made me the ideal person for such a union, as it made it safe. Its necrotic energy could not really affect me and it does allow me to access its abilities to shift and manipulate things," Alptraum explains rather neutrally. "The mind it had is gone. The power it had is within me, and will protect someone and Sylvania now. I said it would work for Sylvania now and I meant it, because I now contain it. I made the choice to help someone very special who has done a lot to save these lands. Who I won't say, as it is personal. That I must ask you to respect."

"That is all I need to know," Mortimer says, after a moment to mull the information over. "Quite a burden." He rubs the tip of his beak, thinking. "Quite a burden, indeed. My sister will be relieved, but this still presents something of a problem. Well, I suppose there's no getting around it then." To Alptraum, it seems like the man is talking more to himself than him, for he looks through Alptraum, as if occupied with his own internal dialogue. "Yes, yes." He then looks up, and straightens. "Well, how about a bit of help?"

"With slaying monsters, sure. With the special someone … no," Alptraum says with a bit of a smirk. "And would it help if I talked to your sister? I'm very good at charming women… "

At that, the Korv's feathers puff out. "My sister? Well, see here you, I … " He glares at Alptraum a minute, then frowns, relenting. After taking a breath, he answers in a calmer voice, "My sister's concern is with the safety of Sylvania. If she knows I'm watching you, she should settle her feathers on the matter. You'll understand if I'm protective of my sister, Reaper or not, for she is my dear family, as well as my twin."

"Ah, well, if you are afraid your sister would not be able to resist my charms and fall under my sway … how well do you think you can do as my assistant? I mean, if you're twins and all, you might just be in constant awe of me too," Alptraum comments as he rubs his chin thoughtfully.

"I could seduce him for you?" Mave offers Alptraum. "I know how to handle avians… "

"We'll see – if you turn into a Korv," the bird responds. "W-" Whatever Mortimer was going to say is cut off at Mave's suggestion, which causes his words to fail and beak hang open.

"I think you just did by saying that," Alptraum notes to Mave. He really looks like he wants to laugh now.

The bird clears his throat and then suddenly tugs his hood over his head. "Rarely do people say such things to a Reaper," he insists, although he doesn't sound insulted.

"And I can't turn into a Korv. That would take more power than I have," Alptraum notes, "Not to mention I would have to ken you. Which … is not a good idea."

"Oh, well, we can't break with tradition, then. I guess Mave can't seduce you," Alptraum says and shakes his head sadly. "A shame for you, really. A night with her is an experience."

"I'm a Yodhinala," Mave says. "A senior one. You would be surprised at who I have seduced in my time."

"Ken?" The bird man shakes his head, gesturing with a hand. "It's not tradition. It's common sense. Or abhorrence. Disgust? We tend the dead and fight the monsters; ours is not a path of hearth and home. Few court a Reaper. We do not remain, and many hold no favor for us, however we may be," he explains.

"I'm the son of Death and can charm women. You're just using that as an excuse," Alptraum comments and pokes the Korv. "You just have to find the right women. Some appreciate strange. I know a few re-furred Eeee that might find you interesting too… I can introduce you… "

"As for kenning. Kenning is … well, I come very close to completely absorbing you, then stop. I would then know what a Korv is. And by that I mean how you are made, and could project the form on another. It would be very dangerous," Alptraum explains.

"And you both find me charming, right?" Alptraum asks the two Eeee with him, just be be sure.

"It's not an excuse," Mortimer insists, adamantly. "The small folk, they know to believe in life, not death. Do you remember the kitchen? Glad to feed me, gladder still I was gone. But maybe there's some merit to your words. I'll trust in you to prove the truth." He then pokes the bat back, and cackles. "You'll mention any feathered women my way, won't you?" He nods to kenning.

"Right, I'll send the harpies your way," Alptraum nods sagely.

"Yes, the harpies. Or perhaps … Tengu?" The Korv cackles again. "Don't think I've forgotten."

"Except you didn't like the only female there," Alptraum points out, "So you might as well forget them."

"I find you charming," Phlagaea says. "I found you charming first!"

The bird blinks, then points at his own beak. "That was a human with feathers," he insists. "Now, her children were cute. A nice Korv, or maybe Vartan, Kujaku, Aquilan. Feathers and beaks!"

Alptraum grins at Phlagaea. To Mortimer, he notes, "I could give you lips… "

"Might as well kill me," the bird grouses.

Remembering something, Alptraum asks Mave, "Think you could get him to wear a beak ring?" He taps his nose for emphasis, then motions towards the Korv.

"I don't think that would work," Mave notes. "He's more of a necklace type."

The bird shakes his scythe at the group. "My beak and any removing or mangling there of is not up for debate!"

To Mortimer, Alptraum says, "Really? Kaira would appreciate that you're willing to lay your life down for the freedom of others."

Smirking now, Alptraum says to Mave, "But I am a nose ring type? Phlagaea, do you agree with the Yodhinala on that?"

"Jewelry should more properly be worn on bandages," Phlagaea insists. "Unless you want an infection, in which case piercing is a good trial according to Gorphat."

"Have you had that trial?" Alptraum asks curiously.

"A collar with a bell would be nice," Mave suggests, looking at Mortimer. "It would prevent accidental heart attacks from him sneaking up on people."

"I'm Blessed, remember?" Phlagaea notes, crossing her arms. "And you've seen me… I don't have any extra holes."

"Death is part of being a Reaper. We all walk with Death," Mortimer insists. He shakes his scythe at Mave. "If it's their time, it's their time."

"Of course you walk with Death now. You're walking with me," Alptraum quips.

Alptraum taps his earrings, noting to Phlagaea, "And not all piercings get infected. Remember that I got one for you. And … that reminds me, I need to ask the Countess about earrings."

"Death is more than any one man," Mortimer says. He glances towards the exit, then remarks, "I'm going to investigate the Countess's stock, I've much to mull over, I reckon. And if I'm to follow you about, I'll have to report to the others and consider my strategies. My sister will need a letter."

"I'll take her the letter," Alptraum offers, "And introduce myself properly."

"Better you invite her here – and bring a tea cup," the Korv corrects. "She's been on the road much too long."

"Ah, right. I'll also have Mave make some proper relaxants and perhaps borrow some zolken pillows," Alptraum muses as he rubs his chin again.

"Relaxants?" Mave asks. "Not… stimulants?"

"Well, both. I'm not sure if she'll be as twitchy as this one… " Alptraum comments.

"Be sure to get some of her blood if you can," Mave notes.

"I am a vampire. It can probably be arranged," Alptraum says, "What do you want it for, anyway?"

"I'll just be going now." Mortimer tips his hood, then begins hobbling towards his things at the table.

"It has… certain uses," is all Mave will admit.

"If you want it, you'll have to tell me the uses," Alptraum notes. He hooks his arm around Phlagaea's waist, then says, "But for now, the table is yours Yodhinala Mave. Phlagaea and I have some business to attend to. Well, after she secures her cauldron, that is. Hmm, I hope her spare bandages are clean… "